


The Ballad of Harpalos

by LadyHammerlock



Category: Ancient History RPF, Original Work
Genre: Ancient Greece, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Sacred Band of Thebes, Sad Ending, Sparring, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23999392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHammerlock/pseuds/LadyHammerlock
Summary: Harpalos dreams of joining the Sacred Band of Thebes. There's only one problem; he doesn't have a lover.It's a problem that he has every intention of fixing.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	The Ballad of Harpalos

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t usually post my original stuff here, but this story is a little different. It was written as part of a challenge that my writing group holds annually, where we all write a story based on five prompts that are given to us throughout the day. My story turned out pretty well this year so I wanted to post it somewhere at least.
> 
> This story was written over the course of a single day, with almost no planning and minimal research, so please forgive any historical inaccuracies. I edited it and cleaned it up a bit today, but the content is essentially what I wrote on the day of the challenge. 
> 
> Also, just a heads up that this story starts out fluffy but ends in tragedy, as all the best Greek legends do. You have been warned.

**The Ballad of Harpalos**

Harpalos scanned the crowded market streets in front of him. The sun was shining in the sky above with no sign of rain on the horizon. Neither was it too hot, the crisp autumn weather making it an absolutely perfect day for the people of Thebes to be out shopping. It also made it the perfect day to find love.

He had spent the morning making sure his arms and legs were perfectly plucked and oiled, had practised his singing, much to the chagrin of his mother, who had eventually shaken her head is dismay.

“You’ll never be a minstrel,” she had told Harpalos. “You know that right?”

“I’m not going to be a minstrel,” he had replied. “I intend to win fame and glory as a soldier.”

“Of course you are,” his mother had said with another shake of her head. “One day you and your lover are going to join the Sacred Band of Thebes. So you’ve told me Harpalos, but that does still rely on you finding a lover. A proper lover mind you; not some pretty face that you spend a single night with.”

“An oversight that I have every intention of rectifying today,” Harpalos said, pausing to pour himself a cup of unwatered wine and downing it in one long gulp. Wine was supposed to be good for the voice, right?

“You’re going to just go out there and find yourself a lover?”

“Yes,” Harpalos said. “I’m going to go out there and find myself a lover, and the two of us will join the Sacred Band of Thebes and become heroes. Just you wait and see.”

He had paused to give his mother a kiss on the cheek before exiting his family’s house. She had shaken her head, but Harpalos had noticed the smile on her face, and had been anything but discouraged to proceed on his planned endeavour.

Harpalos’s eyes glanced over each of the hundreds of faces in front of him, searching in particular for any young, handsome, unaccompanied men who looked like they knew how to swing a sword.

There; that man over there who was lingering at an armorer’s stall. He looked to be about the same age as Harpalos, and his thighs were like a pair of battering rams. Definitely worth a shot.

Harpalos strolled up to the other man, strumming his lyre and starting to sing the love ballad that he had memorised over the past few days, which recounted the great and tragic love between Achilles and Patroclus, and mercifully made little mention of their eventual tragic end. Harpalos dropped to his knees as he approached the other man, singing up at him with all of his might.

It got the other man’s attention at least, although judging by the fact that he was now looking around as though he would rather be anywhere else at that point in time, Harpalos wasn’t sure how successful the actual wooing part of his plan was going.

Eventually the young man wandered off, leaving Harpalos to trail off and feeling like something of an idiot. Well, his first attempt hadn’t worked, but there would be plenty more young soldiers wandering the markets, unaware that today might be the day they were going to meet the love of their life.

Right there! Approaching the same stall that Harpalos was still standing in front of. He was a little rugged, but he looked like he could more than hold his own in a fight.

Harpalos was just about to burst into song, when a nearby voice stopped him.

“Please,” the merchant standing behind the stall said. “I will pay you to stop singing.”

“What? Who are you to stand in the way of…” Harpalos said, turning his attention towards the other man, ready to give him a good telling off, and froze when he got a good look at the other man. Dark, thick curls framed a face as lovely as any that Harpalos had ever seen on any sculpture of Adonis or Ganymede, somehow made all the more lovely by the fiery annoyance on the other man’s face.

“Love,” he finished weakly.

“Who are you to stand in front of my stall and drive all of our customers off!?” the other man said.

“Harpalos,” he said, bowing at the other man.

“Right,” the armorer said, looking anything but impressed. “Well, Harpalos, I would greatly appreciate it if you could take your awful singing somewhere else. Or perhaps give up any pretences of being a minstrel altogether.”

“I’m not a minstrel,” Harpalos said, finding himself actually inspecting some of the pieces of armour that the stall had available.

“Well thank the gods for that,” the other man said. “Apollo would have wept.”

“You haven’t given me your name,” Harpalos said.

“Why should I have?” the other man said.

Oh, he was stubborn as well. Feisty and stubborn and the most beautiful thing that Harpalos had ever seen.

“Hey Iasos,” another man said, sidling up to Harpalos and the armourer and unknowingly giving Harpalos exactly what he had been asking for. “Is this man bothering you?”

He was a couple of inches taller that Harpalos, but those couple of inches seemed immense when the other man leaned over him, arms that looked like they could crush Harpalos with ease crossed in front of his chest.

“Go away Illyrius,” Iasos said. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Harpalos found himself swallowing nervously as he glanced between Illyrius and the armour merchant. If Illyrius was Iasos’s lover then he’d probably landed himself in hot water.

Illyrius glared down at Harpalos, dark eyes feeling like they were boring down right into Harpalos’s soul. Harpalos couldn’t help but feel that whatever Illyrius saw there, he found it disappointing, and felt his heart pounding in his chest in something that wasn’t quite fear.

“Were you annoying my brother?” Illyrius asked.

Brother. Well, that was slightly better news, but it probably didn’t stop Harpalos from being in a great deal of trouble. Illyrius wore the uniform of a Theban soldier, and judging by the other man’s muscles and the scars that Harpalos noticed on one of his arms, the man had already seen many more battles than Harpalos.

“Probably,” Harpalos admitted.

Illyrius leaned back, one of his eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“Well, at least you can admit it,” Illyrius said.

Harpalos noticed Illyrius inspecting him, his eyes darting down and then back up, and felt a flush appear on his cheeks. He was suddenly extremely aware of how short the tunic was that he had elected to wear that day; how much of his legs were on display.

Harpalos realised with some surprise that Illyrius appeared to be blushing as well, and that the taller man seemed suddenly unable to meet Harpalos’s eyes.

“Perhaps um…” Illyrius began, and yes, he was definitely blushing. “Perhaps you should bother someone else.”

Harpalos knew that it was probably his turn to say something. Later he would curse himself for not saying something like ‘perhaps I could bother you instead?’ but luckily Illyrius picked up the slack for him.

“There’s uh… there’s a tavern around the corner that has some amazing wine newly imported from Corinth,” he said. “Perhaps I could interest you in er…”

“Illyrius no,” Iasos complained from his spot by the armour stall, sounding as though his brother was wounding him personally by asking Harpalos to share a drink with him.

“I think I would like that,” Harpalos said.

Illyrius set off, completely ignoring any other protests that his brother might voice, and checking every couple of steps that Harpalos was following closely beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, when they had already well and truly left the armour stall behind. “I didn’t get your name.”

“It’s Harpalos.”

“Harpalos,” Illyrius said, as though tasting his name.

“And you’re Illyrius, right?” Harpalos asked.

Illyrius seemed surprised.

“Your brother said so,” Harpalos explained.

“Oh, of course,” Illyrius said, before smiling and blushing again in a way that Harpalos realised he found surprisingly adorable.

* * *

After a couple of drinks Harpalos discovered that Illyrius was actually quite eloquent and intelligent, or at least he was when he wasn’t feeling nervous. Illyrius was similarly surprised when he discovered that Harpalos was also a member of Thebes’ military.

“You don’t look like a soldier,” he said.

“Hey,” Harpalos said, before playfully punching the other man on the arm. “I’ll have you know I’m a very competent soldier, thank you very much. I don’t think I’ve seen as much action as you, but we all have to start somewhere, right?”

Harpalos had expected that the next logical place for the two of them to end up would be one of their beds. Instead, at Illyrius’s insistence, the two of them ended up in a field behind Harpalos’s house, both of them wearing full armour; a shield in one hand and a spear in the other.

They sparred and practised for close to an hour. Harpalos was slightly quicker, but Illyrius’s extra height gave him a little extra reach, and when he tackled Harpalos to the ground Harpalos discovered that Illyrius was definitely the stronger of the two of them as well.

He had kissed Harpalos then, the long golden grass surrounding them as Illyrius’s mouth conquered Harpalos’s own. Harpalos wrapped his arms around Illyrius’s neck and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Illyrius’s hands moved down, running down Harpalos’s side and then landing on the outside of his bare thighs, the touch of the other man’s hands on his skin sending a thrill down Harpalos’s back.

Something was bothering him though. In the past few hours he had actually come to like Illyrius a lot more than he had thought that he would. He paused their kiss, his hands coming up to hold either side of the other man’s face.

“The only reason that I was in the market was so that I could find a lover,” he confessed.

“I know,” Illyrius said, leaning down to mouth at Harpalos’s neck.

“You do?” Harpalos asked, finding it difficult to think while Illyrius’s mouth was kissing him so delightfully.

“You were done up more than a prized pony on sale at the market,” Illyrius said with a chuckle. He pulled back for a moment, and then he was staring down at Harpalos from above, his eyes meeting Harpalos’s own and keeping them.

It was such an intensely fond look that Harpalos felt his heart pounding in his chest in response.

“In truth I like you much better like this,” Illyrius said, running one hand over Harpalos’s armour. “It’s less fake; more true to who you really are.”

Illyrius leaned down to press a kiss to Harpalos’s forehead, making Harpalos gasp.

“What do you know about who I truly am?” he whispered. “You’ve known me for less than a day.”

“I know that you’re intelligent,” Illyrius said, before leaning down and placing another kiss to Harpalos’s forehead. “Despite what you might want others to think. You’re a good fighter…”

Another kiss, this one to Harpalos’s neck.

“You’re a terrible singer.”

The next kiss was to Harpalos’s mouth, and it lasted much longer than the others had.

Illyrius hung back for a moment before speaking again.

“And I suspect you’re actually very lonely,” he said. There was no kiss that accompanied this last comment, although Harpalos’s heart started racing worse than he thought it might if they had been kissing for hours.

“Well that last one is wrong,” he stated confidently.

“Really?” Illyrius asked, smiling sadly down at Harpalos. “And what else causes a gorgeous young man like you to put himself out on display with such desperation?”

“I want to join the Sacred Band of Thebes,” he confessed. “I want it more than anything.”

“But you need a lover for that,” Illyrius pointed out.

He appeared to think the matter through for a moment, and Harpalos could see no signs of judgement on his face. There was something else though; something that Harpalos wasn’t sure he was completely comfortable with, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. Sorrow? Resignation?

“Well then,” he said, smiling down at Harpalos, although it was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Then I suppose we’d better get to it.”

He leaned down again, capturing Harpalos’s mouth with his own once more.

It wasn’t long before Harpalos’s arms were wrapped around lllyrius’s neck, his hands running through the other man’s hair, his breath letting out all sorts of desperate moans.

In the end they never actually made it inside a house. Instead they made love right there in the field, the thick grass sheltering them from sight and swallowing Harpalos’s cries of pleasure.

Harpalos was far from innocent in ways of the flesh. He’d had plenty of intimate encounters with both men and women, but something about being with Illyrius that first time was different. Illyrius seemed determined to smother him with kisses and tender touches; seemed far more intent on giving Harpalos pleasure than chasing his own.

He felt like he was drowning; like Illyrius was taking him apart one piece at a time and then slowly putting him back together. When he finished it was with a loud cry that Illyrius quickly smothered with a kiss before finishing right behind Harpalos, with his face buried in Harpalos’s neck and his arms holding Harpalos as close to him as possible.

Afterwards the two of them just lay in the field, trading soft, slow kisses until the sky above them started turning black.

* * *

The more time Harpalos spent with Illyrius, the less he found himself caring about getting into the Sacred Band. Conversely, Illyrius became absolutely determined that the two of them were going to make it in. What time they didn’t spend making love and learning each other’s bodies was devoted mostly to sparring, to honing their skills on the battlefield and to helping each other improve their technique.

Harpalos grew to love the time that they just spent together, drinking or chatting, Illyrius’s arm often hanging casually over Harpalos’s shoulder. Harpalos’s mother surprised him by absolutely adoring Illyrius and immediately declaring him a member of the family. Harpalos’s father took a little while longer to warm up to Illyrius, as did Illyrius’s younger brother Iasos.

Looking at the two brothers now Harpalos wondered how he had ever, even for a moment found Iasos the more attractive of the two. Illyrius was so warm and kind and caring and sincere, and his smile, when it was a genuine one at least, never failed to make Harpalos’s heart feel like it was glowing.

They had been lovers for several months when Harpalos was walking to Illyrius’s home, intending to surprise his lover with a visit. He had unexpectedly found himself with a free day, and intended to spend it in Illyrius’s arms, as he always wanted to whenever they both found themselves with time to spare.

However, he found himself freezing as he approached the door. There was yelling coming from within the house, and Harpalos froze as he recognised the voices of Illyrius and his brother Iasos.

“You’d consider throwing away your future for the sake of some fickle, faithless imbecile!?” Iasos was yelling.

“Don’t you talk about him that way!” Illyrius yelled, and Harpalos flinched when he realised that the argument appeared to be about him. “You don’t know him like I do Iasos!”

“Perhaps not,” Iasos said.

Harpalos moved back from the doorway, instead pressing himself against the house’s front wall. He didn’t want to enter until the fight was well and truly over.

“But I know what I’ve heard about him,” Iasos said, “and let’s just say the rumour mill had a lot to say about how many lovers he’s had, and how many of them lasted more than a couple of days.”

Harpalos had to strain to hear what his lover said next.

“Well, my relationship with him proves those rumours wrong, doesn’t it?” Illyrius said.

“He doesn’t love you Illyrius!” Iasos yelled.

“But I love him!” Illyrius yelled back.

Harpalos felt his heart clench in his chest. He had already been listening for too long. He should go now. He shouldn’t be lingering there.

He and Illyrius had waxed poetically about each other’s good looks more than once; Illyrius had told him how it seemed as though the sun rose in Harpalos’s eyes, and Harpalos had told Illyrius how his smile was more beautiful than every flower on earth, but neither of them had dared to breath the word ‘love’ just yet, or at least not where the other could hear it.

“I love him,” Illyrius said again, quieter this time than before. “Don’t you understand? It would break my heart to leave him here.”

Leave him here? Why would Illyrius be leaving? Harpalos’s felt like it had suddenly become far too difficult to breathe.

Illyrius couldn’t leave. What in Eros’s name was Harpalos going to do without him? He pressed a hand to his mouth and forced back the tears that he could feel threatening to spill.

Harpalos realised that he could hear footsteps approaching the door, and realized that it was probably too late for him to leave without being spotted.

He was glad when it turned out to be Illyrius who exited the house. He wasn’t sure that he could deal with talking to his lover’s brother at that moment. He straightened himself up and tried to look as composed as he possibly could.

Illyrius’s eyes widened when he caught sight of him.

“You heard all of that?” he asked, looking only mildly terrified by the prospect.

“Yes,” Harpalos replied, his hands clenching, more in an effort to suppress all of the different emotions that he suddenly found warring for control of his mind.

“Oh well,” Illyrius said. “I was going to pay you a visit later this evening anyway.”

He gestured as though to suggest that the two of them should start walking, but Harpalos didn’t move a muscle.

“Why are you leaving?” he asked, finding himself unable to meet his lover’s gaze.

Illyrius took a deep breath.

“I don’t want to,” he said. “But my unit has been called to war. The Spartans have landed in northern Attika, and Athens has asked Thebes for support. My unit is one of the ones that will be joining them.”

“My unit hasn’t been called,” Harpalos realised with a sinking heart. He understood now why he had been given a free day. The Theban military was too busy readying themselves for war to worry for now about the troops that would be staying behind.

Illyrius wrapped his arms around Harpalos and pulled him close in response to that; his head coming to rest on Harpalos’s shoulder.

“At least when I am fighting I will know that you are safe here in Thebes,” Illyrius said. “That thought alone will bring me comfort.”

For a long time Harpalos could not think of anything to say. His heart felt like it was breaking, tearing itself in two at the thought of Illyrius marching off to face the Spartans without him.

“I love you too!” he cried out, not realising until he said the words how true they were. “Don’t you understand? If you leave then part of my heart will leave with you! I couldn’t take knowing that you were out there fighting Spartans while I was stuck here! Don’t ask me to.”

Illyrius pulled back, and Harpalos realised that his lover had started to cry as well.

“Harpalos,” he gasped, the single word of his name sounding like a desperate prayer when it came from Illyrius’s lips.

Harpalos wrapped his arms around his lover’s shoulder and held him close, letting the other man cling to him and bury his head in Harpalos’s shoulder once more.

“Don’t leave me behind,” Harpalos whispered into his lover’s ear. “Please.”

Illyrius pulled back, and even with his eyes red and his face a mess, Harpalos loved him.

“Well then, as far as I can see there is only one thing for it,” Illyrius said.

“And what is that?” Harpalos asked.

“We march right up to Pelopidas and demand that he let the two of us join the Sacred Band,” Illyrius said. “They’re being shipped out to fight the Spartans tomorrow as well. At least then we’d be fighting at each other’s side.”

Harpalos froze. Despite his earlier obsession, he hadn’t even considered the Band as a possibility. He had been far too concerned with the prospect of having to say goodbye to Illyrius that he hadn’t been able to think of anything else.

“It’s what you’ve always wanted, right beloved?” Illyrius said, reaching up to gently caress Harpalos’s cheek.

That simple touch was enough to snap Harpalos out of the introspective daze that he had fallen into. He looked straight into Illyrius’s eyes then, and immediately knew what his answer was going to be.

“I find that I want it now more than ever,” Harpalos confessed. “If only because it will allow me to stay with you. I’d rather face a hundred Spartans by your side than face a single one alone.”

He realised with some surprise that he meant every single word.

Illyrius’s reply came in the form of his arms clutching at Harpalos and pulling him in for a sweet, passionate kiss that made Harpalos feel like the world was spinning around him.

* * *

Harpalos had expected them to be tested for hours and asked a hundred different questions before Pelopidas accepted them into the Sacred Band. Instead he only asked them their names, how long they had been lovers and how long they had served as soldiers, and finally, the reason why they wanted to join the Sacred Band.

“Because I want to go war at my lover’s side,” Harpalos replied, incredibly sincerely.

“We wish to protect one another and our city,” Illyrius added.

Pelopidas had nodded thoughtfully, and had then asked for the two of them to display their prowess by sparring with one another.

It was an old dance between the two of them at that stage. Harpalos knew what moves Illyrius would make before he made them, and Illyrius could undoubtedly say the same of him. The two of them flowed around one another, darting back and forth, their spears barely ever making contact with their intended target, until they were both panting from exertion.

Harpalos could smell their sweat tainting the air; and found himself unexpectedly distracted by thoughts of other activities the two of them got up to which often left them sweating. He found himself distracted, wanting to run his tongue over Illyrius’s skin and lick the sweat right off him.

Everything ceased to exist for the two of them except each other. They continued to dance around one another; their spears blocking each other’s blows and barely missing skin, until several loud claps from Pelopidas reminded them that they weren’t alone, and they stepped back from one another.

The commander of the Sacred Band smiled at the two of them.

“It was a delight to watch the two of you,” he said. “Clearly you’ve been practising together for some time.”

Harpalos felt a warm flush appear on his face. He risked a glance over at Illyrius, and saw his lover flashing him the subtlest of smiles.

“Welcome to the Sacred Band of Thebes,” Pelopidas said, clapping them both on the shoulder. “I’d usually prefer to have more time to train new recruits and ensure that you both know what’s expected of you, but the truth is we’re down a few men for this campaign thanks to the casualties of the last. You’ll just have to learn what’s expected of you on the field. We ship out tomorrow. You report to me at sunrise with your new comrades. Until then your time is your own.”

* * *

“Well, we did it,” Illyrius said as the two of them walked back towards the city from the barracks. “Congratulations on achieving your dream, my beloved Harpalos.”

“I’m not sure that it _is_ my dream anymore,” Harpalos said, as he walked by his lover’s side.

Illyrius smiled softly at him, before reaching out and entwining Harpalos’s arm with his own.

“Then what would your dream be now?” he asked softly.

Harpalos considered the question carefully for a moment before replying.

“Returning home after a successful campaign,” he said. “With you by my side.”

“That’s a good dream,” Illyrius said, smiling softly at him once more.

The two of them came to a stop, and Harpalos found himself drowning in his lover’s eyes. He had a feeling that they may have come to a stop and lost themselves in each other’s lips and arms for a moment, if it wasn’t for the fact that they had reached the markets, where more than a few people would witness any intimacy that they chose to indulge in.

“Did you know,” Illyrius began, squeezing Harpalos’s hand as he began to walk again. “When I came here a few months ago it was purely to visit Iasos at our family’s armour stall and get the strap on one of my bracers repaired. I never would have dreamed that it would be the day that I fell in love.”

“Well, I can’t say that I wasn’t looking for love,” Harpalos admitted with a chuckle. “But I’m still unbelievably grateful that I found you. Or that you found me. Whichever it was. After all of that did you ever get a chance to get your bracer repaired?”

“Not until several days later,” Illyrius confessed. “I will admit that my brain may have been occupied by other things.”

The scent of roasting goat and spices came from one of the nearby stalls, and Harpalos’s stomach let out a grumble in response to the smell.

“Come on,” he said, pulling his lover in the direction of the stall. “I think we should get something delicious to eat and an amphorae of the finest wine we can afford so that we can celebrate this victory properly.”

* * *

For a while they debated whether their little celebration should take place in a nearby tavern, but after a quick talk they ended up taking the food and wine they purchased to a hill that overlooked the city. There they sat and enjoyed the good food and even better company, as well as the beautiful sprawling vista that was Thebes laid out in front of them.

Harpalos knew that he should return to his parents and inform them that he would be leaving on campaign the next day, but he found himself unwilling to leave his lover’s side just yet.

Once the food was finished he leaned against Illyrius’s shoulder, pressing his face into the other man’s skin and breathing in the scent of him; the scented oil that he had used sometime earlier in the day, the sweat that still clung to his skin from their earlier sparring session, and something else beneath it all that was just the smell of ‘Illyrius’ and which was rapidly becoming Harpalos’s favourite smell in the whole world.

“Harpalos?” Illyrius whispered into his ear. “Beloved?”

Before long Harpalos had climbed into his lover’s lap, and the two of them were kissing with a wild, unrestrained passion that Harpalos lost himself in completely.

“I love you,” he whispered as they paused for breath. “You know that right? I know that my reasons for seeking out a relationship in the first place probably weren’t ideal, but I love you now Illyrius. I love you so much.”

He pressed his face into the crook of Illyrius’s neck, taking another deep breath of his lover’s smell.

“I know,” Illyrius said, turning his head so that he could place a kiss on Harpalos’s forehead; a small, simple kiss that meant the world to him. “My sweet, lovely Harpalos. I know.”

Their lips found each other again.

When they eventually parted Illyrius smiled softly and pressed his forehead against Harpalos’s own.

“I love you too,” he whispered. “With all my heart.”

* * *

In a way Harpalos’s second dream came true as well. They made it back from that first campaign, and from the next, and they were there at Leuctra when the Theban forces pushed back a Spartan army almost twice their size and ensured Thebes’s continued independence.

War was nothing like Harpalos had envisioned when he had listened to tales of Troy, of Achilles and Hector and Odysseus, dreaming of the day when he would have the chance to earn such glory. Such tales never mentioned the overwhelming scent of blood on iron that was left after a great battle, or the stomach-roiling sight of a man’s guts spilling out between his hands, or the look of shock left on a man’s head even after it was removed from his shoulders.

They saw friends fall, one by one, but the Sacred Band of Thebes was invincible. Everyone knew that it was, and every time one of their companions went home, heart broken and their lover’s shield on their back, Harpalos sent up a prayer of thanks to the gods that Illyrius still stood by his side.

They were heroes. They were legends. Harpalos was just grateful that they were still alive, and that Illyrius was there to tend to his wounds and he to Illyrius’s at the end of every battle they survived.

Then came the battle of Chaeronea. The Sacred Band stood along with many others from Thebes and Athens against the might of Macedonia’s army. The Macedonians weren’t Spartans, but a whole new breed of enemy.

Not that it mattered. The Sacred Band of Thebes was invincible and unbreakable, no matter who they faced.

“Let’s show these Macedonian upstarts why we’re legends!” the Sacred Band’s current leader, Theagenes called out from where he stood at their front.

The Sacred Band, including both Harpalos and Illyrius let out a loud cheer. Once the cheering died down Illyrius leaned over to Harpalos and whispered softly to him.

“I bet I can kill a Macedonian before you can,” he muttered.

They’d made a game out of such contests, the victor always being allowed to claim some sort of favour from their lover, usually in the form of a foot-rub or shoulder massage or something of the like, although there had been one battle after which a victorious Harpalos had been too tired to request anything more than that Illyrius hold him for several hours straight.

It was no small ask. The Macedonian phalanx was as impressive as anything Harpalos had seen in Thebes. Their spears were long, and their military expertise and co-ordination equal to anything out of Athens or Thebes.

“Not a chance,” Harpalos whispered back, giving his lover a smile, before reaching out to brush his fingers ever so gently against Illyrius’s own; a silent, wordless reassurance of their love.

The battle began slowly, but soon devolved into organised chaos. The Sacred Band followed orders as perfectly and with as much skill as they always did, but the Macedonian phalanx was a force that could not be stopped.

“I win,” Illyrius called over to Harpalos, and Harpalos spared just a moment to glance over at his lover, who had, sure enough, just managed to thrust his spear into the neck of one of the enemy soldiers.

“Bet I can kill more than you though,” Harpalos said, now attacking the enemy with renewed vigour.

He and Illyrius moved so that they were fighting as close to each other’s side as they could manage, cutting down any Macedonian soldiers foolish enough to leave themselves open to attack and dodging any attacks that were aimed at them or blocking them with their shields.

Harpalos glanced back to make sure that Illyrius was still by his side. The Sacred Band was regrouping, tightening their formation and moving into a more defensive position. It was hard to see how the rest of the battle was going, but Harpalos couldn’t shake the feeling that they were losing.

“Hold your ground!” Theagenes called out. “We’re the Sacred Band of Thebes and we do not surrender! Time to show your lovers why they chose you! Defend one another! Push back! Show these Macedonians why we’re immortal!”

The Sacred Band let out a cheer so loud and fierce that it turned into something more like a roar, and pushed back against the Macedonians. Harpalos could feel the adrenaline coursing through his body as the first drops of rain began to fall on the battlefield.

He gritted his teeth. The rain would turn the ground beneath them to mud. It would be harder to fight, but the Macedonian military would be at the same disadvantage. His spear found its way through a gap in the enemy’s shields and pierced the armour of one of the enemy’s soldiers.

He turned to Illyrius, intending to inform his lover of his kill, and instead froze in place. One of the Macedonian spears had pierced Illyrius’s armour and sunk into his lower torso.

Harpalos felt as though his heart had stopped beating; like his stomach had suddenly dropped. The whole world seemed to come to a standstill, shrinking down to that moment; to the sight of Illyrius standing there in the rain, stumbling, one hand grasping the spear that had just pierced his body.

“No,” Harpalos breathed out. “No!”

Time seemed to come rushing back to him. He screamed and launched himself at the Macedonian army, thrusting his shield against the impenetrable wall of their phalanx with every ounce of strength he owned and forcing them back, if only for a few precious moments.

By the time that he had turned back to Illyrius his lover had fallen to the ground. Harpalos grabbed him under each arm and pulled him back behind the Theban line of defence. Illyrius couldn’t die. He just couldn’t.

Harpalos realized that the Theban line was falling back. Illyrius wasn’t the only one who had fallen.

“Hold your ground!” Theagenes called out, but Harpalos could barely understand what their commander was saying. “Hold your ground!”

His whole world had shrunk down to the man in his arms, and the spear that Harpalos wished with all of his heart was just an illusion. He pulled Illyrius into his lap, pressing a hand to his cheek while the battle continued to rage all around them.

“Stay with me,” he begged. “Illyrius please. You have to stay with me. You have to. I can’t… I can’t…”

He realized that he was crying almost hysterically. Illyrius tried to speak, but when he opened his mouth nothing came out but blood. Harpalos helped him to sit up more, trying to think of anything that wasn’t the fact that the love of his life was dying in his arms.

“You have to survive,” Harpalos tried again. “You won our bet Illyrius. You have to tell me what you want as your prize. You have to.”

Illyrius managed to reach up to press one hand to Harpalos’s cheek. It was covered with blood, his own blood, but that didn’t stop Harpalos from grabbing hold of that hand and pressing it against his cheek, desperate to feel the warmth that still flowed through Illyrius’s body.

“I love you,” Illyrius said, less blood emerging from his mouth this time.

Harpalos knew that he should have told Illyrius that he loved him back, but it felt too much like saying goodbye, and he couldn’t say goodbye. Not just yet.

“I’m going to protect you,” he said instead as he got back to his feet. “You’re going to survive this, and then we’re going to return to Thebes as heroes.”

Illyrius smiled sadly at Harpalos, the same sad smile that he had given him when they had first met and Illyrius had seen right through Harpalos’s protestations that he wasn’t lonely. He always had been able to tell when Harpalos was trying to fool himself.

Harpalos screamed and threw himself at the enemy, cutting down any who dared to approach the spot where Illyrius was now laying. He felt one spear glance off his armour, and then another pierce the flesh of his spear arm. It made him stumble for a moment and almost drop his spear, but he would not let it stop him.

He continued on, filled with a white-hot mixture of pain and rage that he was intent on inflicting on any Macedonian who ventured close enough. Another spear managed to pierce his shoulder, but he yanked it out before throwing it over the shields of the enemy, hoping that it might pierce their defence and take one more cursed Macedonian with it.

He was vaguely aware of the rest of the Sacred Band falling one by one around him. Somewhere off in the distance one of the Macedonian leaders was leading the fight against them, and Harpalos caught a vague glimpse of a golden halo of hair and a horse as black as coal before he turned his attention back to the Macedonian phalanx in front of him.

He was just about to thrust his spear into a gap that he had spotted between two shields in front of him, when it seemed as though one of the Macedonian spears came out of nowhere to pierce him in the throat.

He knew immediately what it meant, with a clarity that his mind had refused to grant him when Illyrius had fallen. He had no idea how many of the Macedonians he had taken with him; whether it would be enough to turn the tide.

It didn’t matter anymore.

The spear was removed from his neck, its owner pulling it roughly back through Harpalos’s flesh, and he fell to the ground. He could feel the blood filling up his lungs and flowing out from the mess that was left of his neck. He had just enough strength left in him that he was able to turn his body so that he was facing Illyrius.

Illyrius’s eyes widened in horror as he caught sight of Harpalos, apparently still alive enough that Harpalos’s own fatal wound registered somewhere in his mind. Harpalos had seen enough death now that he knew that his own would be quicker than his lover’s. He reached out towards Illyrius, while Illyrius did the same, their fingertips just touching over the damp muddy ground of the battlefield.

“I love you too,” Harpalos tried to say.

His throat was no longer able to make the necessary sounds, but he knew that Illyrius would see the movements of his mouth and know what he was trying to say.

“I love you,” Harpalos repeated, his second attempt just as fruitless as his first. “Illyrius.”

He watched as Illyrius’s eyes slowly closed, not willing to look away from his lover for even a second. The sounds of the battlefield started to fade around him. Harpalos refused to close his eyes.

* * *

Iasos stared at the lion statue in front of him; newly resurrected near the village of Chaeronea. It was enormous, making Iasos feel dwarfed while standing in its shadow. Macedon had asked Thebes to pay a monumental sum to be allowed to bury the bodies of their fallen in peace; a sum which the now conquered Thebes had paid, before spending just as much on a statue to commemorate the fallen.

The Sacred Band of Thebes had been slaughtered in the battle, not a single member surviving the Macedonian onslaught. Iasos had spotted his brother amongst the fallen, and insisted that he be buried alongside Harpalos. It was what they would have wanted, and others that had known the fallen had made similar requests for other couples, all of which were honoured as much as practicality would allow. In the end the Sacred Band of Thebes were all buried together around the giant lion statue.

The statue was supposed to commemorate all of the soldiers that had fallen in the battle of Chaeronea, but none there were able to forget the Sacred Band of Thebes. It was even being said that when King Philip II of Macedon had come across the fallen Band, he had wept when he realised who they were and that his army had slain them, although Iasos wasn’t sure whether or not he should believe that.

What he did know was that his brother was gone.

His and Illyrius’s father had passed several years earlier, and their mother had been too sick to make the journey, but he spotted Harpalos’s parents nearby, his father stoically holding back his tears while his mother wept openly.

He took a deep breath, swallowed his pride, and approached the couple.

“I’m sorry,” he said, placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder.

Harpalos’s mother stopped crying for a moment and turned her attention to Iasos. He could see that it took her a moment to place him. His fault really; he hadn’t exactly encouraged the close friendship between the two families that Illyrius and Harpalos had been clearly trying to forge.

“They died as heroes,” he offered.

The older woman frowned and appeared to think for a moment before speaking.

“They died together,” she said.

“I think,” Iasos started, unsure that any words he offered would be the right ones, “that’s what they would have wanted, right?”

“I hope so,” the older woman said.

“I hope so too.”

The giant stone lion stared out over what remained of the battlefield.


End file.
